"It's him," he yelped, looking fiercely at Holmes. "He's got my life in his hands. He kin take it. What does he keer fur me or my girl? I'll not stay wi' yoh no longer, Lo. Mornin' he'll send me t' th' lock-up, an' after"---- "I care for you, child," said Holmes, stooping suddenly close to the girl's livid face. "To-morrow?" she muttered. "My Christmas-day?" He wet her face while he looked over at the wretch whose life he held in his hands. It was the iron rule of Holmes's nature to be just; but to-night dim perceptions of a deeper justice than law opened before him,--problems he had no time to solve: the sternest fortress is liable to be taken by assault,--and the dew of the coming morn was on his heart. "So as I've hunted fur him!" she whispered, weakly. "I didn't thenk it wud come to this. So as I loved him! Oh, Mr. Holmes, he's hed a pore chance in livin',--forgive him this! Him that'll come to-morrow 'd say to forgive him this." She caught the old man's head in her arms with an agony of tears, and held it tight. "I hev hed a pore chance," he said, looking up,--"that's God's truth, Lo! I dunnot keer fur that: it's too late goin' back. But Lo--Mas'r," he mumbled, servilely, "it's on'y a little time t' th' end: let me stay with Lo. She loves me,--Lo does." A look of disgust crept over Holmes's face. "Stay, then," he muttered,--"I wash my hands of you, you old scoundrel!" He bent over Lois with his rare, pitiful smile. "Have I his life in my hands? I put it into yours,--so, child! Now put it all out of your head, and look up here to wish me good-bye." She looked up cheerfully, hardly conscious how deep the danger had been; but the flush had gone from her face, leaving it sad and still. "I must go to keep Christmas, Lois," he said, playfully. "Yoh're keepin' it here, Sir." She held her weak grip on his hand still, with the vague outlook in her eyes that came there sometimes. "Was it fur me yoh done it?" "Yes, for you." "And fur Him that's comin', Sir?" smiling. Holmes's face grew graver. "No, Lois." She looked into his eyes bewildered. "For the poor child that loved me" he said, half to himself, smoothing her hair. Perhaps in that day when the under-currents of the soul's life will be bared, this man will know the subtile instincts that drew him out of his self-reliance by the hand of the child that loved him to the Love beyond, that was man and died for him, as well as she. He did not see it now.